a thousand sunsets do not a sunrise make
a million wheat fields one loaf of bread cannot bake
a billion brushes a painting does not fake
a zillion words but divine truth cannot be spake
these things all a being require
with body, soul, and spirit of fire
to transform with will, and ego-less desire
into that which transcends the funeral pyre
there is more that just aging into the silence of years
the long, solemn march through the hall of spent tears
for we’ve the gift of transcending our fears
of creating a space into which the divine can appear
so turn now your hear to the task of devotion
and thus brew in your soul the most magical potion
that a drop of two daily will soon set in motion
the unleashing of knowledge more vast than an ocean
with this treasure inspired by the light from above
we can transmute our own nature, become white as the dove
and if we take up the spirit, donned like a glove,
then all that we touch will be imbued with our love
if thus with the earth we truly relate
then earth’s true form, verily, we create